


Shapes in the Fire

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Animal Transformation, Betrayal, Character Avatars, M/M, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After reading an exhaustive book on ancient Ireland, I had a dream wherein Avon and Tarrant were men of old Ireland. The dream had tragedy/betrayal/heroism/magic/and nookie and I couldn't resist writing this tale based on it.</p><p>I blended a fantasy magical realm of an Ireland that never was with historical details of true Ireland and I blended the characters and events of Blake's 7 with the people they would have been in this world, and kept them as true to my view of their characters as possible within the requirements of the story.</p><p>Tarrant is Tiarnach, Avon is Apthach (Aka Aidan) and other characters who appear briefly, or are only mentions, are Blake as the High King Blathmac, Anna Grant as Allana the beautiful betrayer, and Del Grant as Delvin, her brother who vows to kill Avon/Apthach in revenge for her death.</p><p> </p><p>"As the same fire assumes different shapes When it consumes objects differing in shape so does the one Self take the shape Of every creature in whom he is present."<br/>--Maitri Upanishads (c. BC 800-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shapes in the Fire

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

The bushes rustled softly, so gently that anyone other that a Fian would have taken it for a night-bird's alighting on the branches.

Fian Tiarnach was not misled. His sword had been lost, still tied to the saddle of his slain horse, but his dagger remained. It slipped into his hand as he approached the brambles. There was enough of moonlight to find the brush, if not the man who hid within. "As an honorable man, I'll be giving you fair warning. Come out or..."

"Come out to die at your feet?" said a calm voice from within the bush. "It's a place of my own choosing I'll stay in."

"Flat on your belly in the prickles?" Tiarnach said, scornfully.

"I shall at least have the entertainment of watching you slaughtered before me."

Tiarnach whirled and listened, straining all his senses to the utmost. The man in the brush was right; Tiarnach's pursuers were nearby. He had thought to have lost them. He hesitated, instinctively hefting his knife to test its balance.

"It's an idiot you are, surely, if you intend to stand against them." The voice from the brush was cool and calm, and very annoying. "But many young men are such fools."

Tiarnach felt his face warming at the back-handed insult. "The fourth rule of the Fian says I shall stand fight to all odds, as far as nine to one. There are twelve of them."

"Ah. So what will you do, my gallant Fian?"

Tiarnach made his decision. The man under the bush _might_ be an enemy, but the ones following on his heels certainly were. "Get you back, man. I'm coming in there."

"Flat on your belly in the prickles?" The wry humor did not sting this time, possibly because Tiarnach was busy fitting his lean but lengthy body into a woefully inadequate space beneath the tangle of thorn-bearing branches.

"A dead warrior does his lord no service. Now, be quiet, as you love life, for they are coming!"

"As I love life?" the man murmured and Tiarnach was sorely tempted to choke him, but after that one remark, the man was as still as stone.

Torchlight and muttered imprecations announced the arrival of Tiarnach's enemies. They were little more than hill-bandits and he gritted his teeth against the urge to rise and punish them for their temerity in hounding a man of the Fian. Had he not become separated from his comrades while investigating the merits of a particularly fast stallion, his band would have accounted for them easily. He could still take them. Even with but a dagger. He tensed, thinking about it. A touch on his arm, and he turned his head slightly to meet a sharp, questioning look from the man who hid beside him. No, Tiarnach could not sentence another man to death for the sake of his pride. Yellow torchlight flickered, reaching into the thorn hedge in patches. Tiarnach carefully gathered the gold-embroidered hem of his cloak under so it would not catch the light. He let his eyes glance to one side. His new comrade wore night-dark cloth with no flash of gold or bright color. A serf, then. Far below Tiarnach in class, despite his wit. 

They waited, ignoring the thorns' bite and the creep of small insects inside their garments. The other man had courage to remain still even after one of the frustrated bandits thrust a sword into the brush barely inches from his face, raising him in even farther above the average serf in Tiarnach's estimation. After a few minutes, the small clearing was empty once more, but Tiarnach waited until long after his racing heart had resumed its accustomed rhythm. He waited until the small night creatures had emerged. He waited longer still. At last he said, "They've gone, I'm thinking."

"Truth enough. Now, will _you_ go?"

"Out of these thorns, certainly." Tiarnach crawled out. Once clear of the bramble, he found a fairly straight oak branch, and prodded it into the mass of thorns to raise them. "Come now, while I can give you clear passage."

The man hesitated. "The thorns have been faithful friends. I should continue to company them. Do not stay your no doubt heroic journey on my account."

"I do not like to repeat an invitation at the point of a dagger, but you will come out."

There was a long sigh, then the man came out from the brush. He stood and stretched to his full height. Even in the dimness, Tiarnach could see the man was shorter than himself, but possessing a strong chest and an ease of movement that indicated a well-toned body. "Very well, my lord, as you would have it." The words were respectful, but the tone was pure insolence.

Tiarnach was not accustomed to insolence. He raised his hand to chastise the impertinent serf.

The serf lifted his head just as a convergence of winds blew tree branches aside, letting moonlight slide across his upturned face. He was a ghostly pale, with dark eyes like pits into a netherworld of infinite sorrow. 

Tiarnach let his hand drop, suddenly abashed at his impulse. He was angry at the men who cost him a good horse, and a better sword, not this poor wretch. "Ah, man, why should we be at each other's throats? After this night, we should be as dearest comrades."

"Because we sheltered under a common thorn hedge? Two foxes may share a lair when the hounds run. It does not make them mates." The man turned and would have gone, but Tiarnach reached out and grasped his arm.

"To be speaking of mates on this night of all nights to a man who has none, that is ill-fortune."

The man went still within his grasp. "This night? Is it then..." He tilted his head back, and his mouth opened slightly as if to speak to the moon still bathing his features in light. "Beltinne. The festival of life. You are right in that much. It does not do to insult the gods. I withdraw my intemperate words. Now, let me pass."

Tiarnach's grip tightened. "I will not. I cannot."

"Why do you say that?" The man sounded puzzled. "On the morn you will surely find your Fian and be welcomed back into the bosom of their company. Whereas I am not fit company for any."

"What is your name?" Tiarnach asked, determined to discover some answer to the mystery of this stranger.

There was a pause, then the man replied, "They are after calling me Apthach."

_Apthach. Banished person._ Tiarnach almost released the man, but something had been happening inside of him since seeing that pale face in the moonlight. "They call me Gabulfota," he replied instead, and was rewarded with a bright smile that reflected the moonlight and made Apthach suddenly appear young and vulnerable.

"Long-legs." Apthach chuckled. "Your name is as apt as mine, lord long-legs."

"Fit mates then," Tiarnach said, his free hand reaching up to caress Apthach's face. The skin was soft and warm beneath his palm, fresh-shaven that day and smelling pleasantly of herbs and clean male flesh. "It is Beltinne. I would not be without a mate this night." He waited. He would not force the unwilling, but this man stirred his desire, with his sly, mocking wit and his dark, despairing eyes.

Apthach's eyes went blank and he lowered his head, escaping the moonlight's spell. "For my life, I would grant that. For your life, I would advise against it, my lord."

"What harm in a night's pleasure?" Tiarnach murmured, emboldened by Apthach's manner. 

"I could be telling you, but you are young, and the young never believe anything they have not experienced for themselves." Despite his words, Apthach's body was leaning toward Tiarnach's.

"I've experienced more than you could ever dream," Tiarnach said, truthfully. Being young, comely, and bold, he'd never lacked for partners, of either sex.

"I'm thinking, you have not experienced _me_." Apthach opened his mouth and lunged forward, kissing Tiarnach with an unexpected enthusiasm. At most Tiarnach had hoped for grudging obedience from this sharp-tongued serf. 

He let Apthach push him back until he collided with the rough bark of a massive oak, then he began his own counter-attack, glad of a worthy opponent. His hands reached around the surprisingly slim waist, encountering firm muscle beneath the dark cloth, running up inside the loose tunic to trace the outline of ribcage, bones clearly defined by his tracing fingers. The skin was slack over the ribs, as if it had not yet realized the flesh it protected had been diminished. He had not been long on the run, then, but it had been swift running, with little time to forage and no hope of claiming hospitality. 

It was a hard thing for a man to be so alone. Tiarnach had never known a time without companions, a battle without a true friend at his back. His chivalrous heart went out to this man, this stranger who must have committed some terrible crime to be so punished. He could not think of the crime, not with the fever of Apthach's body pressed so desperately hard against his own, so hungry for touch that a mere kiss had him moaning and ramping against Tiarnach's thighs. What it must be, to be always with every man's hand against you? This one night, Tiarnach resolved to be Apthach's companion, his bulwark against his enemies, as well as his lover. His palms went flat, following the plains and forests of Apthach's chest, upward and inward, to the twin mountain-peaks of nipples, in miniature following the example of Apthach's upward-straining shaft. He tweaked the nipples, digging nails into flesh for that sharp edge of sensation that he had always enjoyed himself.

Apthach gasped and arched his back away from Tiarnach's pinching fingers.

"Ah, a weakness! A hit, a distinct hit..." but Tiarnach's crow of triumph was cut short as Apthach shook his head and slid out of Tiarnach's grasp, suddenly fox-elusive and roebuck swift, evading, but staying tauntingly within reach. 

"The Fian," Apthach said, panting, "must be skillful in wood-running, and so agile," he paused to duck under Tiarnach's arm and sidestep once more, before continuing to declaim, "that in his flight no single braid of his hair is loosed by a hanging branch." And he was past Tiarnach again, a small stinging at Tiarnach's temple evidence of the trophy he had taken.

"I'll wager 'tis auburn," Apthach remarked, winding the long strand of hair about his wrist for safe-keeping. The fickle moon granted Tiarnach a glimpse of Apthach's amusement, then fled behind cloud, or tree. 

"You'll see on the morrow. Provided I don't...Ah!" Tiarnach bellowed like a goaded bull and fell to his knees, tripping over an exposed root.

"In his course he must bound over branches the height of his forehead, and stoop under others the height of his knee, without delaying, or leaving a trembling branch behind." Apthach's mockery came closer.

Tiarnach lunged, caught Apthach about the knees and toppled him to the ground. "Without pausing in his flight he must pick from his foot the thorn that it has taken up," Tiarnach said, laughing. "My thorn. I've taken you. Now, will you be plucked?" He put one hand heavily against Apthach's heaving belly, while the other went down to fondle the blood-warm swelling between Apthach's legs.

"Gabulfota," was all Apthach said, but there was 'yes' in the tone, and that was enough for Tiarnach.

He undid the waist-tie of Apthach's trousers and reached inside to pet and fondle for a moment, before pushing the garment down in a tangle.

"Careful."

"I'll not hurt you. You need not fear me." 

Apthach laughed, a short fox-bark devoid of humor. "I fear losing my only covering. Come Samain, Beltinne is a pleasant memory, but that will not keep me warm when the wind bites."

Tiarnach had forgotten. It would go very hard for Apthach in the winter, if he had been run so thin and worn in the sweet green of spring. Impulsively, he leaned over Apthach to kiss the side of his neck, sweat-damp and salty as it was. "This night, I will keep you warm. Give yourself into my keeping, and I will keep you safe."

Apthach sighed. "This night. Very well, let it be. Let it be as you will." He spread his arms and legs a little and lay as if awaiting sacrifice.

Tiarnach was annoyed. Every time he began to feel a tender regard, Apthach found a way to evade. "As _you_ will," he replied, and stripped both himself and Apthach, taking care not to damage the clothing. He settled atop the other man, arranging himself so that his weight was supported by his elbows and knees. A few inconvenient stones were digging into his left knee and he kicked once with his leg, dislodging them. The movement shifted his balance and their groins rubbed for an instant. Tiarnach stopped thinking about how irritating Apthach was, and thrust hard, back and forth, cock sliding against a sweat-slick belly, slowing and circling when he landed a lucky stroke against the wonderfully slippery, delightfully twitching cock attached to the irritating Apthach. Fingers of fire/ice went up his spine, so sharp a sensation his body could not properly interpret it, and he arched in reaction, grinding them together as he would hone a blade against a whetstone. 

Apthach growled deep in his throat, clutched Tiarnach about the waist and pulled him down to a deep, wild kiss, thrashing his head from side to side, lashing with that clever tongue, nipping with sharp teeth. It was as if an animal had slipped inside his skin, a starving animal at that. That thin body was stronger than Tiarnach had guessed, lifting and pushing until their bodies were arranged to suit the animal's hunger.

Tiarnach didn't realize what Apthach was doing until a pair of sinewy legs were clamped about his waist and his cockhead was being enticed between a pair of buttocks, which were well-muscled, but by no means sinewy. Given a moment to think, he might have considerately tested his lover's readiness- he might have searched for the small clay pot of goose-grease he kept to oil his sword against the damp- he might have oiled his other sword before sheathing it in an untried scabbard. But he wasn't given that moment, and his hips thrust without awaiting the word of command, the small gold bells tied at the ends of his braids making chiming music to match the rhythm of his hips.

Apthach's mouth opened beneath Tiarnach's, but the sound that emerged was too soft to be heard, a mere whisper of hot breath sliding down Tiarnach's throat even as his cock found a path up inside Apthach, to the hot, inner depths where even the strongest man is silken-soft. Given a moment, Tiarnach might have paused and held his ground, allowing his lover an opportunity to accustom himself to the rough invader in his guts. But he wasn't given that moment either, as Apthach grunted and began working himself on Tiarnach's cock, as if trying to engulf the whole man.

So Tiarnach lunged, stallion-swift and bull-strong, arms wrapped around his mate, toes frantically seeking purchase in the forest loam to help drive his cock to the root before yanking nearly out again, then back into the sweet, tight embrace that clenched too tightly for gentle love-making, demanding his full strength, every thrust a fight both going in and coming back out. Apthach snarled now and bit at Tiarnach, but not in trying to drive him away, for when Tiarnach flinched, Apthach kissed the bitten places and held his hands at the back of Tiarnach's head, fingers dug deep into warrior braids, tongue washing over the injuries he'd caused, all mute apology and mad desire.

Apthach's eyes widened so far the moon reflected in them, then they rolled back and he shuddered all over as his body found release. Tiarnach followed and reveled in the pleasure until he looked down at the quivering body that lay beneath his, giving him comfort, but taking none for itself. The moon-silvered face that gazed back at the Fian held no expression he'd ever seen on any lover. The closest he could recall was a king's champion who had fallen on the battlefield while protecting his liege's corpse. There was despair, and sorrow, and guilt. And other, unnameable emotions, things no man should have to bear.

"Don't, my heart. My soul, don't," Tiarnach murmured, trying to soothe with voice and hands and lips, wandering over and over Apthach's suddenly shock-cold flesh.

Apthach shuddered once more, then those despairing eyes closed and his breathing slowed, and became regular. 

"Sleep, then. Sleep, my love." Tiarnach moved carefully, freeing his cock, and slowly pulled Apthach onto his side so that he could lie in Tiarnach's arms, head resting against the pillow of Tiarnach's chest. "Hush, now, hush," Tiarnach whispered, as Apthach moved restlessly in his sleep, muttering almost-words that Tiarnach knew he had not the right to hear. Apthach had allowed him into his body, but he had not wished to share his shame. Tiarnach kissed the lines at the corners of Apthach's eyes, the down-turned curve of his mouth and the tender hollow of his throat, recoiling from the roughness of a scar that must have nearly taken his life. Tiarnach's cloak was not too far away for a long-armed stretch. He retrieved it and flung it over them both.

***

Tiarnach awoke, suddenly feeling cold despite the early morning light brightening the woods. He sat up, instantly alert and remembering all that had happened in the night. "Where is it that you are going?" 

Apthach was kneeling at his side, but in the act of rising. He had not been long awake, judging by the wildly tousled hair and the fact that he was still naked. He looked at Tiarnach for a long moment, then said, "Away. Unless it is your thought to make me your slave?"

"Aptha... " Tiarnach shook his head. "I cannot call you that. Give me another name."

"Shall I, Gabulfota?" Apthach emphasized the name, the obvious byname.

"Tiarnach. That is the name my mother gave me."

"Tiarnach," Apthach replied. He inclined his head." 'Lord'. Ah, then I was right. About that as well."

"As well?" Tiarnach kept his gaze locked with Apthach. The dark eyes were even more arresting in the dawning than they had been by moonlight. It was difficult to keep staring into their depths, but he felt as if he were holding Apthach by his will, as if, should he blink, some slender chain would be broken and set Apthach free to run.

"Auburn. As I'd thought," Apthach said, glancing down at the hair still wrapped bracelet-fashion about his wrist, a wonder that it was still there after the night.

"Why did you think so?" Tiarnach asked, idly, running a hand through his disordered, auburn braids. The curly strands were inclined to be wayward, often escaping from their confinement. "Because of the classic wisdom of the ancients? The auburn-haired are intelligent, industrious, possessed of a good disposition, and," he said, grinning to show off the smile that had charmed many a villlage lass, "very much esteemed as lovers?"

"In all truth, my lord, I was thinking that the most reckless men I've known have been auburn. Having too much fire in the soul, they burn very brightly, but are a danger to those about them."

Tiarnach touched Apthach's long, glossy black hair, admiring the smoothness and sleekness. It was like the satin coat of a well-cared-for stallion, reflecting sky-blue where the rising sun struck it. "Then I'm seeing you have nothing to fear, for your hair has already been burnt black," he said, jesting.

Apthach moved away, without actually moving. "To match my soul." He rose and began gathering his garments. His back to Tiarnach, he said, "My mother named me Kieran. Then I became Aidan."

First 'black', then 'fire'. Tiarnach's jest seemed to have hit too close. "Became Aidan? How does a man become fire?"

Aidan had pulled on his trousers and knee-high, tightly-fitting black boots, and now he slipped into his tunic. He turned, stepping into the brightening sunlight. 

Tiarnach gasped in surprise. The drab, supposed serf's garb was a wonder of silk, woven with strands of some miraculous fiber that sent shimmers of flame along the weave with each breath of its wearer. "Aidan," he breathed. "Who... _what_ are you then- man, god or devil?"

"I am Apthach, now. That is all you need to know." Aidan lifted his head, eyes going blank as if he'd forgotten Tiarnach existed.

"Stay." Tiarnach had not meant to beg, but that was how it came out.

Aidan blinked and looked down at him. "You are a fool to ask that of me."

"It may well be that I am that. But stay with this fool." 

Aidan crouched down, touching Tiarnach's cheek with two fingers in an oddly mannered gesture. "I am death, walking. Do you not see?" His voice was soft and regretful.

"I see only you. I am a warrior, and of the Fian. Nothing there is that I fear on this earth."

Aidan shook his head. "Do you not fear dishonor? I was magician to the High-King himself and could work wonders the like of which you can not imagine. If magic could not be saving myself, then what use are the thews and bright curls of a brave boy?" He patted Tiarnach on the cheek. "Take the story of our meeting to your Fian. Set it to poetry, and sing it around the fires. That will be your best service to myself and more than I deserve, to be remembered kindly among the heroes."

"Was it then that your banishment was deserved?" Even in their brief time together, Tiarnach had seen there was nothing of dishonor about Aidan. 

There was a long silence, while Aidan stared past Tiarnach. "No. All a man's power cannot save him from the weakness of his heart." His lips tightened. "If you would hear the story, ask in the court of the High-King. Aidan the betrayer. Aidan the woman-slayer. They will tell you."

"Will they be after telling me the truth?" Woman-slayer. That shook Tiarnach.

"As they know it, they will. Let me go, boy. Or kill me."

"I cannot do either thing you ask of me."

"There's no reasoning with an iron-headed young man," Aidan muttered to himself. "You cannot stop me," he said as he rose to his feet.

Tiarnach was up and holding Aidan in his arms before the man in black could take a step. "I can hold you, man. I can take you to the Fian. We are bound to uphold justice, even against the High-King, if needs be. Tell my men your tale. We will fight for you, and prove you blameless."

"How? She is dead, and the truth is dead with her. There is no one as witness! Had I not saved the High-King's life I should have had my head struck off my shoulders. I am dead to the world!"

"You are life to me." Tiarnach was resolute. If he gave thought to Aidan's argument he might despair, but he had fixed his whole soul upon his new-found love.

Aidan struggled in Tiarnach's arms. "I still have power. I could wither your muscles and leave you a cripple, fit only for begging alms from your Fian!"

"Then do it, if you must." Tiarnach tightened his grip. "That is the only way you will be free of me. I am younger and stronger than you and nothing less than evil magic will drive me from your side."

Aidan's lips drew back from his teeth. "No. You will not keep me. I will it not!" He threw his head back and screamed, then his whole body convulsed.

Tiarnach had seen men in fever, and men in the grip of the gods' madness. He had never seen a man's body contort as Aidan's was doing. He hung on grimly as he was dragged about the clearing, shifting his grip constantly as muscle humped and moved under his hands, bone shifted and spun away, even the silken fabric roughened into a hairy hide. It was magic, and his very skin crawled in terror, but Tiarnach would not relent. The body he held was Aidan's. Whatever shape, the man he wanted was within. Aidan rose above Tiarnach now, towering over him, shifted into an animal- a great, tangle-maned, wild-eyed, black stallion, with fire-red nostrils, and white teeth that snapped at him.

"Ah," Tiarnach said gladly, relieved that Aidan had not summoned a demon, something beyond his understanding. This he knew how to master. "It's a mistake you've made, my friend." With that he flung himself upon Aidan's back and clamped his knees into the stallion's barrel. "Run, then."

Aidan gave a stallion's scream of rage and tried to bite, but Tiarnach grasped the horse's lower jaw, holding it despite heavy head-shakings until Aidan gave up that tactic and reared, landing on one foreleg and whirling to kick back with both hind feet at once.

Tiarnach laughed and dug his bare heels into Aidan's ribs, urging him onward. "Yes!" He held a handful of mane and balanced himself against every lunge and crow-hop. Aidan raced for the trees, but Tiarnach slipped to one side before the branches could scrape him off and was upright again before the horse could shake him loose.  
It was a long fight, but even in horse-form Aidan's body felt the effects of his banishment. Finally he staggered to a halt, legs spread wide and head hanging, foam dripping down his shoulders and flanks as he heaved for breath.

"Now, will you be sensible?" Tiarnach said, alighting. "You could have done yourself a mischief, my lad." He found himself speaking as if to a horse and his cheeks warmed in embarrassment, but as Aidan made no answer, and seemed not likely to return to human form, Tiarnach inspected him as he would any hard-driven horse, finally ending by patting him on the shoulder. "Come," he said, taking a handful of mane, and led Aidan back to the clearing so he could collect his possessions. He was a bit sore himself, for Aidan's backbone was thin and sharp. 

"If you promise to stay while I clothe myself, then I'll not be forced to hobble you," Tiarnach said when they reached the clearing.

The horse turned its head and stared at him, dark eyes peering under a fringe of forelock. Aidan pawed one hoof deep into the forest loam, showing his irritation.

"Nod then, and I'll let you be. Yes, I'd trust your word." Tiarnach grinned. "Even a whinny."

Aidan's nostrils flared, and his ears laid flat, but he waited while Tiarnach dressed, once more donning the colors he was entitled to as a poet and a man of the Fian. A scarlet tunic covered a white shirt of the finest weave, embroidered in blue, green, yellow, and gold threads in an intricately interwoven design about the neck and sleeves. His trousers were the color of summer butter and bore scarlet thread-work along the long line of his legs. His boots were of blue-dyed deer-suede with green and yellow embroidered knots worked into the tops. He fastened a wide blue belt about his waist with a heavy buckle of chased gold. "And don't be playing the lawyer with me now, and run off the moment I've done," Tiarnach warned as he picked up his cloak, which was sky-blue with the figures of galloping horses worked in gold about the edges, and twirled it around to settle over his shoulders.

The horse stamped again and shook his head. Tiarnach approached fearlessly and put his arms around the horse's neck, resting his head in the hollow between shoulder and neck. "'Tis beautiful you are this way. But I loved you as a man, my heart." Aidan let out a loud, exasperated-sounding breath, the horse-equivalent of a sigh. "Of course, this way, you cannot argue with me."

Aidan half-reared, lifting Tiarnach off the ground for an instant.

"I ask you, is that the fine manners of a gentleman of the court?" Tiarnach chided. "Be you horse or man, I'll not be giving you up. Make your mind to that and be glad of it." He stood for a long time, embracing the stallion. 

The horse finally dropped its head as if to graze, but the neck kept lowering under Tiarnach's hands, shrinking and shifting until he was holding a man in his arms.

Aidan granted Tiarnach a glare, then shook himself free, which Tiarnach allowed as he could see Aidan meant to argue rather than flee. "There are no bonds strong enough for one of my kind. The High-King himself could not hold me against my will."

"Did the High-King love you?"

Aidan looked away, then back again. "Not as you mean it, but yes, I think he did love me, after the fashion of kings, as much as he was able." From the bleakness in his eyes, Tiarnach saw that Aidan had loved his king, the king who had ordered him banished, who had sentenced him to a long and lonely death. "What is it that you know of love? The night was good, so you believe that all other nights will be good, that the pleasure will last forever and a day, always golden and shining bright, and never an accounting to made for it. A night's pleasure I gave you as payment for my life and was thinking myself over-generous."

"If you do not value your life, then why is it you argue with me over the spending of it? At the least, I shall keep you warm. And give you someone to sharpen that tongue upon."

"Shall I live in the woods and await your summons when the adventures of the Fian pall? When the village ladies are too busy at their looms, and the shepherds with their flocks? We shared Beltinne as men. It's no desire I have to be your leman, paid for and kept for your pleasure."

"Not that. I would do you no dishonor. It is no terrible thing for a man to love men."

"No," Aidan admitted. "Had we met when I was in the king's favor, I might not have set you aside. But this... this is worse than taking alms, than living on men's pity. It is as if you offer me a dowry, a marriage portion. Do you not see that I can not live like that?"

Tiarnach's heart felt heavy as he accepted the truth of Aidan's words. "Then you will die." If Aidan grew famished in the springtime plenty of Beltinne, he surely would not survive a winter alone.

"Then I will die," Aidan said quietly.

"My Fianna are less than a day to the north," Tiarnach said, hoping for a chance to change Aidan's decision with sweet words and the draw of their bodies, one for the other even now in this moment of sorrow. "You could company with me that far."

"I am for the west. I would seek the sea."

"Would a day so much matter?"

Aidan said softly, "It would make it that much harder." And before Tiarnach could reply, Aidan twisted upon himself and dwindled into a black-furred fox. The fox yapped at Tiarnach once before diving into the brambles and disappearing among the shadows.

***

Tiarnach looked back at the edge of the wood. Something dark moved within. He lifted his hand in farewell, but could not tell if anything returned his gesture.

***

There was no time to be melancholy among the Fian. From Beltinne to Samain- May Day to the first of November- they camped in the open and lived by the chase. They caught robbers, exacted fines and tributes, and were on guard against any evil, whether invader or native villain. At night they prepared dinner-pits to broil their meat, while they bathed in nearby streams and combed and plaited their hair. After the meal their bards and story-tellers recited poems and told of history and legend, until they slept on the 'three beddings of the Fian'- first green boughs, over that green moss, and finally green rushes.

But there was time for Tiarnach to think, very carefully, over all that Aidan had said and decide what he would do. He asked those who had been to the High-King's court for the story of Aidan. The story began with Alanna, wife to Cullen, one of the High-King's advisors. She was often seen with Aidan, but none thought that strange, for the magician took pride in his talents and often amused the ladies of the court with the lesser magics.

Then it was that Cullen was found dead, stabbed to the very heart with a silver dagger, one well-known to be Aidan's. Alanna had gone to the men who were to take Aidan and wept and implored them to kill him on sight, saying that he was so evil and powerful that he could not be taken without giving them sore hurt, even as it might be slaying them all as a cat among a nest of mice.

The men were bitterly insulted, and vowed they would take him alive. It was done, and he was brought before Blathmac the High-King, bruised and angry, but not greatly harmed. 

Blathmac could not believe that his favorite would commit such a crime within his very court and asked to see the dagger. The moment his eyes went to the bloody weapon, he knew it for one he had given Aidan, the day Aidan's magic had saved his life. He sorrowed greatly that his gift had been so infamously used and asked reasons of Aidan.

Aidan denied his guilt, but said nothing more. Blathmac looked at Aidan for a long time, and then he turned his gaze upon the weeping widow. Cullen had been rich in lands and cows, horses, and gold. He had no children. All would belong to his widow. While looking at Alanna, the High-King asked Aidan if any could have taken his dagger.

Aidan said nothing.

Blathmac repeated the question.

Alanna screamed that Aidan had seduced her, that he wanted her to leave Cullen, and she had refused. She pointed out witnesses who could swear to having seen him making her presents, kissing her hand, and calling her to private meetings.

Aidan's face was white, but he kept silent. 

The witnesses agreed that they had seen what she had said. No one of them had seen anything that went beyond the bounds of propriety, but added together it was clear that Aidan had played the suitor to a married woman.

The High-King demanded Aidan tell him the truth, on his oath of fealty.

Still, Aidan held his tongue, despite the third time of the High-King's asking. Blathmac was so angry at Aidan's refusal to speak that he came forward and took the magician from his captors himself, and shook him as a dog does with a rat.

Alanna came up beside the two men, suddenly snatching the dagger from the High-King's belt to strike at Aidan. Aidan came to life then, pushed Blathmac aside, and turned the dagger back upon Alanna. She died in his arms and he kissed her corpse before he laid it on the rushes at Blathmac's feet.

Aidan had saved the High-King's life twice, once by his magic, and once by his courage in battle. The whole court knew this, but Aidan did not call upon that debt. He did not ask for mercy. Blathmac pondered for some minutes before ruling that as Cullen's murder had not been proved against Aidan, he could not be executed for it. But neither had he obeyed his king, and therefore must he be banished. Alanna's death he ruled was self-defense. Although there was a stir in the court over the killing of a woman, particularly one so beautiful, none who had witnessed her attack could deny that Aidan had but turned the dagger, while she had flung herself on it, trying to reach him. Some argued the woman had been driven mad by the murder of her husband, and his murderer was therefore to blame for her death as well, but they loved their king, and would not stand against his judgment. Aidan was taken from the court and turned loose with nothing but the clothes on his back and the few possessions he carried in his pouch.

***

Tiarnach turned the story over in his mind. He seized upon the hopeful parts of the tale. Blathmac did not believe Aidan guilty, and, still owing him a blood-debt, he would be bound to hear Aidan's champion.

The High-King himself must bow to the law. There must be evidence, or witnesses, some way to prove an injustice had been done before Blathmac could overturn his ruling. Aidan had said the only one who knew was dead. Alanna. Could the dead be made to speak? It was a terrible thought, one that went against everything that was right and true. The gods themselves might be moved to anger. But... there were stories... legends of heroes going down into the afterlife to redeem lost love. It always ended badly, but what if one only asked to _speak_ with the dead?

But how was it to be done? All Tiarnach knew of magic he had learned from Aidan... Aidan. If there was a man in the entire blessed Isle who had the power, it would be himself. 

Tiarnach rose the next day with his fellows, saddled his big chestnut-colored horse, and took up on the saddle before him his favorite hound. "I go in search of Aidan," he said to his captain, "pray give me permission."

The captain looked at him and laughed. "I would not stand in your way, lad. Go, and may your hunt bring you pleasure." He laughed again at the blush that spread over Tiarnach's fresh complexion. "Only bring us back a tale half as good as the first, and we shall be well rewarded for the loss of a warrior."

"Not a loss. I will return," Tiarnach said, but in his mind he was already searching out the route he had taken, deciding how best to begin tracking his prey.

***

"Once more, my brave boy, try once more," Tiarnach urged, hours later, dismounting from his horse to thrust his cloak beneath the hound's nose. The cloak had lain over Aidan, and must hold some trace of his scent. Indeed, Tiarnach was sure he could tell it himself, a rich, male odor that brought back memories of their one night together.

Bellmouth, the hound, was sore-footed and ashamed of his failure. He gave a shame-face wag of his tail, and snuffled the cloak before turning his nose to the forest loam in an attempt to please his master. He whined and scratched and circled, but his tail hung low, and never did he give the 'found, found' bay that had earned him his name.

Tiarnach tied his horse to a tree. He called the dog back and petted it, head bowed over the rough-coated animal. "Poor Bellmouth. 'Tis not your fault, lad."

There was a rustling in the branches overhead, and Tiarnach looked up, then ducked, seeing a raven perched in an ancient elm, high enough to be out of arm's reach, but directly above his head, in a fine position to spoil Tiarnach's clothes. "No, you don't, you black imp!" Tiarnach cried, bending down for a stone.

The raven cawed, mocking, and sidled along the branch to the other side of the tree.

Tiarnach dropped the stone. "Even the birds of the air laugh at me," he told Bellmouth.

Bellmouth looked at him, then wagged his tail and threw his head back and began baying. He ran a few paces around the elm, and looked up, putting his paws against the tree-trunk, and continued his triumphant song.

Tiarnach rose and looked to see what Bellmouth had treed. Sitting astride a branch, a man's length above Tiarnach, was Aidan, who said, "And well they should. Were you thinking a hound could track a man who changes his scent every time he changes his skin?"

"No," Tiarnach replied, silencing Bellmouth with a pat without looking at the hound. "But I was thinking that you might be coming to see who hunts in your woods."

"My woods? I own them not."

"You must know them better than any man who has only trodden the paths two-footed. How many shapes have you taken here?"

Aidan shrugged, and Tiarnach's breath caught at the weariness in the gesture. "Too many. Too long in any one, and I would be caught in that shape, losing man-mind to the animal. But too many... even magic has its price." Aidan showed that price in his pallor, in the too-bright gleam of his eyes. "I'm thinking it's a better price than some I might be called to pay. I'd not give my enemies a man's corpse for their gloating."

"Come down." Tiarnach's voice shook with emotion. Aidan might have died. Died and been left to be eaten by animals, or died _as_ an animal, so he'd not even leave the bones of a man to testify. Tiarnach needed to hold him in his arms, to be sure he was still a mortal man, and not some will-o-the-wisp born of Tiarnach's desire.

"Why?"

"Because I ask it." When Aidan merely cocked his head to one side, Tiarnach added, "Because I would like to love you at least this one last time." He had thought to say,"I have a plan," but he feared Aidan would merely call him a fool and fly away.

Aidan hesitated. "The Fian are not called upon to defend the Isle today?"

"The Fian are hunting. I simply chose a different prey."

For whatever reason, that was the right answer. Aidan granted Tiarnach one of his startlingly sweet smiles, and turned, belly-down over the branch, sliding down until he was hanging from his hands. He dropped and Tiarnach was there to ease his fall, half-catching him with an ease that dismayed him for the lightness of the weight, but he did not mention it. Instead he said, "This is not west," reminding Aidan of their parting words.

Aidan shrugged. "Perhaps it was that I was lost." He was staring into Tiarnach's eyes, his hands still lightly resting on the Fian's shoulders.

"Come to me." Plans and plots could wait. "Come. Be with me for this little time."

"I should deny you. I should turn you aside from me. This will be doing neither of us any good, no good in this or in any other world." But Aidan interspersed his protests with kisses, arms wrapped around Tiarnach's waist in a tight grip.

Tiarnach argued with his body, thrusting one leg between Aidan's, rubbing his thigh against the silken cloth that covered his lover's groin. Aidan moaned into his mouth. 

"There is a thicket, not far from here," Aidan said, hands running over Tiarnach's back and sides, exploring and arousing at the same time. "Hidden. Safe. Sweet-smelling and cushioned with the leaves of seasons past."

"Let me get my horse," Tiarnach said, coming a little way back to the world of men. "And Bellmouth, I must..."

"Your horse could not come into my lair and I like not the stare of your hound."

Tiarnach looked down. Bellmouth obviously disapproved of this stranger embracing his master. He was too well-bred to growl, but his eyes showed green sparks of jealousy, and his hackles were half-raised.

"Bellmouth, guard." Tiarnach pointed towards the tree where he had tied the horse. The dog went reluctantly, but he obeyed. Tiarnach followed Aidan, but made a game of it, catching and wrestling the older man to the ground for several lengthy petting sessions. Clothing was loosened, but nothing removed, as yet. They were both out of breath by the time they reached Aidan's thicket. 

"Here," Aidan said, putting one hand on the bark of a young rowan tree entwined with its neighbor, growing so closely together roots and trunks were in danger of merging. The line of rowans continued to either side with a precision that was unnatural. 

"Someone was after planting these trees," Tiarnach said, wondering at the effort it must have taken to uproot mountain trees from their home and transport them to this mostly oak forest.

"Someone." Aidan agreed, leaning against the tree as if it were an old friend.

"You? Why?" 

"Rowan-berry is protection against hostile magics. The tree itself can be befriended, and even in the spring there is benefit to be derived from its presence. I was needing a safe place." He gave Tiarnach a sideways glance, like a sullen child confessing to a broken pitcher. "For the practice of forbidden magics, things I wanted to know, needed to know if I was to protect my king."

"Ah." Tiarnach almost mentioned his plan then. Almost. Aidan leaning against a tree, hip outthrust, and one elegant hand curving in embrace about a branch, was an invitation he could not refuse. "Shall we practice other magics?"

"Within."

Tiarnach looked at the trees. There was no space between any of the ones he could see that would admit his body. "Which way, my heart?" he asked.

"This way." Aidan knelt and pushed aside a heavy ivy creeper to expose a tunnel made of arched roots. 

Tiarnach eyed the opening. It looked a tight fit. He was about to point out that there were several suitably soft and mossy areas right here, when Aidan dove into the hole and disappeared with a tantalizing wriggle of his buttocks. Tiarnach sighed and took off his scabbard with its borrowed sword, and leaned it up against the nearest rowan tree, draping his blue cloak over the pommel of the sword before getting on his belly and crawling into the root-tunnel. It _was_ a tight fit, and he was hot and annoyed, scratched and dirty, with leaves stuck in his hair and down his collar, before he emerged into the thicket. 

Aidan was waiting, stripped naked and fully erect, fingers circling lightly over the wet, red tip of his cock. His tongue emerged and licked once over his lips.

Tiarnach quite forgave him everything. His finery dropped to the leaf-filled hollow inside the circling rowans, but this time he had remembered the goose-grease, and had the container to hand. Aidan had made no complaint at their earlier joining- perhaps he had felt some perverse need to be hurt, but that was not Tiarnach's way, finding pleasure in neither the giving nor the taking of pain. 

He opened the container and rubbed the warm, slippery grease over himself, becoming spear-stiff almost at once. Another dip into the pot and he wrapped his hand around Aidan, running his fingers slowly, lovingly over the delicacy of skin over the hardness of cock, teasing. He wanted it to be slower this time, and it seemed Aidan agreed, for he made no protest as Tiarnach pulled Aidan a step forward and began kissing and stroking hungrily, but with pauses in between to savor the taste and scent. 

Aidan was returning the kisses and running his hands over Tiarnach's body, tracing the edges of shoulder-blades, the line of lean muscle overlaying the bone, sweeping down to massage buttocks that clenched and quivered under the magician's touch.

"Yes," Tiarnach murmured into Aidan's throat when he felt fingers exploring the crease between his arse-cheeks. "I want you, my fire."

Aidan did not respond in words, but the eager flush rising to warm his pale features was answer enough. As one they knelt in the rustling leaves, still kissing deeply, tongues twining in imitation of the ivy-vines about the rowan.

Tiarnach lay down, pulling Aidan on top of himself. Aidan must have prepared this place for his own rest, for fresh green grass and soft herbs overlaid the years' accumulation of dried foliage. It was as comfortable as any well-laid straw bed and he relaxed into it, enjoying the herbal scent that rose as he crushed the leaves beneath his weight. "Come, my love," he urged, as Aidan seemed to pause, some thought flickering behind those forest-dark eyes. "I would know you in all ways."

Aidan shook his head, black hair flying like stallion-mane. "Never. Never ask that."

"Ah, man, you think too much. Keep your secrets, then, but give me your body." Tiarnach wanted the secrets as well, but at the moment, filling the aching hollow within was far more important.

"That I will do, and gladly." 

Tiarnach opened his legs, grasping his knees to pull them up high. "Put your shoulders here."

"So, the advantage of youth," Aidan said softly, moving closer so that Tiarnach's knees came to rest atop his shoulders, with the long lower leg draped over his back. "To bend like a ribbon plaited in a warrior's hair, and never feel the strain." He moved his stiffened cock between Tiarnach's cheeks, finding the opening and pressing in, all in one swift motion.

"Ahh!" Tiarnach moaned, throwing his head back into the grassy bed. Aidan's cock was much larger than Tiarnach had realized, misled by his thinness of body. That was one part that had not wasted away, and he was glad of it. He put his arms around Aidan's shoulders, holding his love tight-pressed to his chest so he could kiss, filling Aidan's mouth even as he was being filled from behind with Aidan's hard cock.

Aidan was even wilder than before, forcing himself entirely into Tiarnach's buttocks with each thrust, then pulling back so hard that he freed himself, only to return willingly to his entrapment. "No," Aidan moaned as if to himself. "No, not so fast, slow down, slow down." But he could not slow his pace, becoming red-faced and gasping with the effort.

Tiarnach spread his legs even further, pushing them down from Aidan's shoulders to wrap around the slender waist. He locked his ankles together, digging the heels hard into the crack of Aidan's buttocks, using the full strength of his long leg muscles to hold them locked together at the deepest part of Aidan's thrust. "Shh," he soothed when Aidan's eyes widened in frantic need. He petted Aidan's shoulders, and began working his buttocks from side to side, circling on the thick, greasy pole that had impaled him so fully he felt as if he were one of the stuffed roasts they set before the High-King's table. A swan, filled with a goose, filled with a duck, filled with a hen, filled with a thrush, filled with a swallow, filled with a hummingbird...all flesh and all for the pleasure of the king. He was king now, ruler of all the universe, lord of all he surveyed. He was looking into Aidan's eyes as the thought came to him and something of the sense of possession must have shown, for Aidan pulled his head back and reached his hands down to unlock Tiarnach's ankles, freeing himself to continue mating.

"No." Aidan met Tiarnach's loving gaze with fire, his eyes blazing. "I will _not_ love you. I am _not_ yours." But he did not stop moving within Tiarnach.

"Then," Tiarnach gasped as a particularly deep, twisting movement felt so wonderfully good that he couldn't help squirming and pushing up for more of it. "Then, I am yours to do with what you will." He grasped Aidan's arms, which were now braced beside his head.

Aidan growled something that wasn't words, and lunged one last time, burying himself as he came, jerking and trembling all over with his release.

Much to his own surprise, Tiarnach had been concentrating so much on Aidan's pleasure that he did not follow. Aidan lay on him, gasping and panting while his cock softened within, but after a moment, he reached down between them to stroke Tiarnach's hardness. "A warrior's sword," he murmured, "ought not to be sheathed unused." He slid out of Tiarnach and moved down to put his mouth on Tiarnach's high-arching cock, but after touching his lips to it, he coughed and said, "I could never abide the taste of goose-grease."

Tiarnach's patience was outworn and he reached down to grasp himself. Aidan stopped him. "I would not be so ungenerous." He yawned, "But soon, soon, lord long-legs. Sleep beckons, and its embrace is nearly as sweet as yours." Aidan turned and knelt, shuffling into the leaf-mold to make it comfortable. 

Tiarnach took himself in hand, and settled behind Aidan, looking down on milk-pale buttocks and cream-colored back, skin seemingly as delicate as a maiden's, yet with a warrior's scars. He traced one of them, a line of wrongness stretching over the point of the right shoulder, and going down across the chest. 

"Spear," Aidan said, in answer to the unspoken question. He glanced over his shoulder. "Someone thought to bring home a black boar for a feast."

"Why..." but Tiarnach could not bring himself to finish the question. Why would a man so court death? 

"I weary of being myself. I also weary of waiting for you."

"Then take _my_ spear," Tiarnach said, fitting his cockhead into Aidan's tightness. "Oh, 'tis wonderfully hot you are inside. Fire, my Aidan, surely you are made of fire, my Aidan, my heart, my love," he murmured over and over again, as he held himself to long, leisurely thrusts, grasping the warm shoulders, the narrow waist, the sinewy arms, in his desire to encompass the entire being of his lover. Aidan made no reply, but moved in concert to his rider, gasping softly as he accepted the full length, back arched to allow the deepest penetration. Tiarnach's balls swung forward to bounce against Aidan's, clinging as he ground himself against the sweet softness of buttocks.

He pulled back, panting, and spread his legs farther, trying to wrap his legs around Aidan's hips. He felt himself engorging even further, encouraged by the tightness about his shaft, and slowed his pace, trying to make the moment last. Biting his teeth into his lip, he regained control and pulled half way out, looking down to see the swollen purple shaft sliding back from between the white mounds, the small hole stretched taut to accept his girth. He kept moving slowly, caressing nipples and stomach muscles, his fingers gliding around Aidan's limp sex, careful not to touch still-sensitive flesh. 

Aidan shuddered beneath him, and he soothed his hands back over the thin shoulders, bending down to cover his lover completely, protecting him with his own flesh from all the world's ills. His heart pounded so, he thought it would leap from his chest like a salmon returning to its spawning place. And then his hips bucked forward and he was unable to pace himself any longer. It didn't matter what he wanted. His body knew nothing but the absolute necessity of rutting. He clawed at Aidan, digging his hands into the angle where thigh met waist as magic fire raced up his spine. Tiarnach screamed, a pure, eagle-shriek sound of joy as his seed flowed into his mate. His limbs melted and he collapsed heavily on top of Aidan.

After several minutes Aidan shifted, succeeding at last, with no help from his lover, in turning them onto their sides and pulling away.

Tiarnach was half-asleep, but he still dimly noticed when Aidan released himself and moaned a protest, reaching out blindly.

Aidan moved into Tiarnach's arms. "I'll not be leaving you without saying," he whispered. "That much of honor, I have left, surely. Sleep now." 

Tiarnach wasn't entirely sure, but he thought he felt soft lips press upon his brow.

***

"Wake."

Tiarnach opened his eyes, alert and awake in an instant. "What?" he asked, looking up. Aidan was dressed, and up, pacing the confines of their bower.

"The rowans woke me." Aidan tossed his head. "They are uneasy."

Tiarnach looked at the trees. They looked the same as they had before. "Is it that they are thinking to be jealous of me?" he said, jesting.

Aidan stopped and turned to face Tiarnach. "It may be." He blinked, slowly. "They are my rowans, and I am theirs. One would not long survive the other. They know when I suffer, as I know their pain."

"Then they shall be as sacred as the druid's oak to me," Tiarnach swore, pressing his hand to his heart for emphasis. "Never a rowan shall I pass without giving praise."

"Now I will go, Tiarnach." Aidan turned again, his pacing becoming harried, nervous steps. His shadow seemed to shift as if he was already changing form.

"Wait! I have a plan!" Tiarnach's fear forced him to speak without the careful consideration he had intended. "A plan to end your banishment!"

Aidan gave Tiarnach the sort of smile one gives a well-meaning child. 

Tiarnach insisted, "I mean to lay proof of your innocence before the High-King's court."

"Proof? There is none. Would you be after buying witnesses? For gold, there may be those who would swear to what they did not know, but no man of honor would be believing them."

"This witness they would believe. _She_ knew the truth."

Aidan stepped back, as if staggered. "Alanna is dead."

"And you are a magician, my heart." Tiarnach silently begged Aidan to admit that he could raise the spirits.

"What you ask me to do is cause for worse than banishment." Aidan seemed to consider it even so, then shook his head firmly. "And it would do no good, for _if_ I might call up Alanna's spirit, I could no more compel the truth from her in death than in life. She was a woman of great strength of will and no doubt would delight in maligning me from the grave. I must..." Aidan spun on his heels, eyes gone wide and wild. "The rowans..."

The trees still looked like trees to Tiarnach. He was about to say something of the sort, when Aidan slapped a hand over his mouth. "No!" he whispered fiercely into Tiarnach's ear, the sound a mere breath. "Listen!"

The trees were making tree-rustling sounds. Aidan's breath was a tickle in his ear. And...not so distantly there was the 'found-found-found' of Bellmouth.

"Betrayed by your own hound," Aidan growled in his ear. "He's leading them to us."

"Who?" Tiarnach whispered back, bewildered.

"Alanna's kin. Think you banishment enough for them? I should not have begged a song from you. They knew to follow one fox to find the mate." 

The baying was noticeably closer.

Aidan gazed ruefully at Tiarnach, reaching out to run his hand down the side of his young lover's cheek. "But I do not regret you, my Fian. Remember that, and stay within."

"No!" Tiarnach's whisper was almost too loud. "I'll fight any man, any odds for you, my love."

"Then you will kill me. Is there in the code of the Fian nothing of sense? They will chase me, but they have chased me before. Trust me." He cupped his hands around Tiarnach's face, and gave him a swift kiss. "Trust me, and stay within."

"Will you return?"

"I should not have come to you this time." The hound was almost upon them, and they could hear the shouting of men, too many men. "My rowans will defend you, if only you stay within."

"Then stay with me."

"Trees burn. No, I must give them something to follow."

Aidan gave Tiarnach one last wry grin, and changed, becoming a black-grizzled badger with a shining white blaze. The badger lifted a lip in a famiiar sneer, and dove for the root-tunnel, its short, sturdy legs digging deep in the bark of the rowans. A moment later he heard a thump, and the badger returned, dragging his sword and cloak.

"Please," Tiarnach asked, raising the sword, "let me..."

The badger merely growled, slapped its switch of a tail and left.

Tiarnach hesitated, then picked up the sword with his right hand and wrapped the cloak around his left arm. He did not bother with the rest of his garments. Either he would win and return for them, or they could be his burial shroud.

He wriggled flat on his belly, sword extended before him, and prayed that it should neither tangle, nor give him away before he could get to his feet. He would be helpless as a pig in a slaughter-pen when he first emerged. 

There was a scuffle filled with snarls and furious deep-throated growls ahead of him. Through the branches and roots, Tiarnach saw the badger throwing itself at Bellmouth, but the large hound was clever in the ways of prey. Tiarnach cursed silently as he realized that Aidan could have changed to a bird and escaped the hound, but for the fact that Bellmouth would have told the men that Tiarnach was still within the rowan circle. 

Tiarnach pushed through the tunnel heedless of scrape and scratch. He also ignored the men standing about, shouting and urging the dog to the kill. They were so caught up in blood-lust they did not even notice Tiarnach until he shouted "Bellmouth!" just as the hound caught the badger and bit deep into its shoulder. "No!"

Startled, the dog turned. Aidan ripped out Bellmouth's throat and the dog died, bewildered at the betrayal. Tiarnach winced for the faithful hound, but his eyes were on the wounded badger. "Aidan," he whispered.

A sword came down where the badger had been, but Aidan fled, faster even on three legs than a man.

"NO!" Tiarnach bellowed, feeling the battle-rage come upon him fully for the first time. He had fought in battle many times, but it had always seemed a game, where he had nothing more to lose than his life, and the chance of gaining honor so that they would sing his name down through the ages. That had been all he had ever wanted. Until he met Aidan.

"Die with your beast-lover, then!" shouted the leader of the men, pointing his sword at Tiarnach to urge his men to the attack.

Tiarnach whirled his sword about his head in a showy maneuver the swords-master hated, and brought it down across the hilt of another sword, slicing fingers to the bone. "Try me!" he shouted, over the screams of the maimed man, and side-stepped the rush of three men. "I am Fian," he chanted as he back-thrust into a second man's gullet, pulling his sword free and about, rising to slice apart the third man's windpipe. "I am death." The sword splattered red blood across the fourth man's face, blinding him to the stroke that pierced his heart. "I am the cold, dark face of your ending," he swore, looking at the man who gave the orders.

The leaves underfoot were slippery with blood, but Tiarnach's toes dug deep, like an animal's claws. A two-handed stroke cleft a man from shoulder to breastbone, the shock of hitting bone jarring his sword. A great heave cut the sword loose and he swung it in a wheel, first in one hand then the other, the weight of the massive blade causing it to whine like a hungry animal as it cut through the air. "The gods love me, for my cause is just." There was only one man left. There had been others, many others, but they had fled his fury, recognizing a man in the grip of the war-god. He did not greatly care if they lived for they were only the followers. It was the leader who had hounded his Aidan, run him down to bare bone and tormented him in his exile. He would not let the leader flee. He stepped past the groaning, dying men, intent on his prey.

There was a flicker in the eyes of the leader, and his sword-arm trembled. He had not been afraid to die, but he had reacted to Tiarnach's words as if...Tiarnach shouted, "You know the truth! Tell it and live, man! The gods do hate a liar and ill-luck will be all his short days, and the honest earth refusing his foul bones."

The leader let his sword-tip drop and backed away, but he had become turned around, and found himself pressed against the rowans.

Tiarnach threatened, "They are his trees. They will know if you lie! Who killed Cullen?"

"Aidan, it was the magician himself!"

The rowans moved although there was no wind, and the branches growled as they pressed upon each other. They seemed to reach down for the man, branch-tips crooked as if to claw.

"No!" The man sobbed, terrified by the magic as he had not been by Tiarnach's sword-play. 

"The truth!" Tiarnach insisted.

"It was...It was my sister, Alanna-the golden-haired, who did the terrible thing, with her own two slender white hands."

The trees stopped rustling. 

"Did you help her?"

Alanna's brother began talking, faster, and faster as if he was giving up a burden too long held, "No! No, I knew nothing of what she planned! Nothing, I swear to all the gods. The truth came to me later, when it was no use. Her servants, her possessions, all came to me, her only kin upon this wide earth. One serving boy was ill, sick unto death he was. He saw my sister in my face, and begged for her forgiveness before he perished. He had stolen Aidan's dagger, but he had not been brave enough to kill Cullen. So Alanna had done it, while the lad watched. Raving with fever he was, so I thought it all a lie. My sweet sister, a murderess?

"Then... then I found the parchments...my sister was a skilled woman. She had a hand as fine as any cleric. But what it was she wrote... she wanted the High-King and she thought if she were a rich widow it would be that he could not refuse her. She wrote about the dagger, and Aidan. She loved him, but she loved power more, and so..."

Tiarnach finished, "She betrayed him. Aye, I can see how the boy might have mistaken you for her, You hunted the same innocent man, knowingly."

"He killed my sister! He deserved to die for that. She was beautiful, my sister!"

Tiarnach lowered his sword and gazed around at the dead and dying men. "See what your sister's beauty has caused. To redeem your family honor, will you not tell the High-King the truth?"

After a long moment, Alanna's brother lowered his head in assent. "For my family's name, I would have killed Aidan, that no one living should have known of the shame. I was wrong, and the gods have shown me the true path." He lifted his head, and for the first time, he met Tiarnach's gaze fully. "I will go to the High-King and confess all. You have my word."

"Tend to your men, then." Tiarnach looked about the battleground, and shook his head. "We will bury the dead before we go." He returned to Aidan's thicket and retrieved his clothes, using his ripped cloak to wipe the blood from his body before dressing. Going into battle naked was no shame, but one could not appear before the king in such fashion.

***

Blathmac frowned when Tiarnach came before him. "I have heard that you champion Aidan the banished. Your song has moved my heart to pity, but still, there must be justice done for foul murder in my very court."

Tiarnach knelt before the High-King, bowing his head freely, as he would do to few others. "I am Fian, and what I say is true. Aidan is innocent, as clean-handed of that crime as I, my King."

Blathmac looked troubled and shifted uneasily upon his chair of state. "I would not call you liar, but love can blind a man. Aidan..." Blathmac sighed. "Aidan was always one to be either loved, or hated."

"I do confess to that love," Tiarnach replied. "But it is more than a matter of my heart's desire. Had I any doubt, I would be after asking you to banish myself, that we might be together as equals, but this man will prove Alanna, the beautiful, fair-handed Alanna, did plan her husband's murder, and did, herself, drive the fatal blow into the back of a man who had trusted her, intending that another who trusted her should pay the price of her double-treachery." Tiarnach drew a long breath, grateful that no one had interrupted the rush of words. Slandering a dead woman was a hateful thing. For nothing less than Aidan's life would he have done it. He looked up into his king's eyes, willing him to see the truth.

Blathmac pressed a hand to his chin, worrying at the dark curls of his beard, then pulled the hand away and said, "And who are you, to say such a thing? You were not of the court, and could not have seen Cullen die, to know the how of it."

Alanna's brother knelt beside Tiarnach, and in a steady voice said,"I am Delvin, brother of the unhappy Alanna, and I swear that all this man has said is true. My sister's servant confessed to me upon his deathbed that he had seen it done. I have read my own sister's words as she planned the terrible thing. I have brought the parchments." Still kneeling, he offered a rolled-up scroll.

Blathmac accepted it, untied the length of silken ribbon that held it together, and began reading. His brow clouded, and his eyes became so black with anger that members of the court shifted uneasily. Blathmac's temper was seldom loosed, but when it was, nothing could stand in his way.

Blathmac rose and strode over to the hearthfire, flinging the parchment within. Tiarnach's protest died on his lips when Blathmac dropped to his knees before the startled Fian. "An injustice has been done. My loyal Fian has served his king nobly." Blathmac took the gold clasp from his own cloak and pinned it to Tiarnach's soiled cloak. "Aidan's banishment is lifted, and all his rights and honors are restored to him." Blathmac smiled, and said, "Aye, even his right to insult the High-King in jest. Even that I have missed sorely. Bring back my magician."

"I shall, my king," Tiarnach said, eyes gleaming.

***

Tiarnach could not find Aidan. A long and weary week and more he searched, calling through the woods, sending men to shout the glad tidings that Aidan need hide no longer. At last he brought another hound to the rowans, skirting the mound where Delvin's men were buried and the smaller mound that covered the remains of Bellmouth. He hoped the trail would end with Aidan, recovering in some secret place, or at least with the track of a man, that he should know Aidan yet lived. The dog followed the badger trail until the tracks came to a stream and he lost the scent. There had been blood the length of the trail. Each dried blot on leaf or stone seemed to shout 'he dies! while you wander, he dies!' How much blood had a badger? Or would it be a man's blood he was shedding?

And why had he not become a man? Surely it would be easier to travel as a man with a wounded arm than a three-legged badger. Tiarnach's throat dried as he remembered how weary Aidan had looked when he had said he would not leave a man's corpse for his enemies. If he felt himself wounded to death, he would choose the badger's way.

Tiarnach suddenly knew that was just what Aidan had done. Despairing, he tied his hound and horse near the water, and returned to the rowans. "Your master will die if I do not find him. Help me." The leaves rustled and the trees murmured, but if they had an answer, he knew not their language. "How in all this wood am I to find one badger that will not be found?" he asked, falling to his knees before the trees and stretching out his hands in entreaty. 

The trees had no answer for him. Angry, Tiarnach cried out, "Then, if you will not help, you deserve to die when he dies!" He paused. "Yes, and he would die if you died. What would he do if you were hurt, I wonder?" He drew his sword, but hesitated. "I would not do this if I could see any other course. Forgive me, tree." And he lopped off a fair-sized branch, still spring-green and soft so the sword severed it easily. Blood-red sap flowed from the wound and all the rowans shivered.

"He will have felt that," Tiarnach said to himself. He touched the tree in apology. "If only he chooses to come, to fight for his trees." He comforted himself with the thought that Aidan was the most obstinate man he'd ever met. Aidan would not die tamely. He settled down beside the tree, sword across his knees, tree-sap blood drying redder than man's blood along the bright steel.

After a while he rose and took a branch from a second tree. Again the rowans cried out in their silent way, and again the Fian begged their pardon. 

Night was coming on, and Tiarnach sighed and rose once more, sword upraised. A snarl behind him and he turned, instinct putting the sword up, before he realized he had succeeded. A very bedraggled, very angry, black badger faced him. He dropped the sword. "Aidan, my heart, my only. The High-King knows the truth. You are free."

The badger's mask relaxed its snarl, and the black eyes looked confused.

"Be a man again, among men. Reclaim your place, and me at your side." Tiarnach spread his arms and knelt, offering himself.

Aidan put down his wounded fore-leg, hissed and lifted it again. He backed slowly away.

"Aidan! Do you not hear? Blathmac welcomes you back to his court!"

Aidan's eyes were blank, black beads.

Tiarnach wanted to weep. He had lost Aidan to the animal. "No!" he shouted, ripping off his cloak and flinging it over the badger. He threw himself atop the struggling animal, wrestling the snarling, snapping beast into, if not submission, at least a temporary truce. He tied a ripped-off length of cloak about the hind legs with some difficulty, and nearly lost a finger doing the same to the fore-legs. Finally, he rose, panting, and surveyed his prize.

Aidan's eyes were wild, and his mouth frozen open in a rictus of animal terror and hopeless threat. The gash in his shoulder was oozing a sour-smelling yellowish fluid which he made flow faster by thrashing in his bonds.

"Shh, my love, shh. Do not be fearing me." Tiarnach stroked the wide, white stripe down the badger's forehead, barely avoiding the weak snap that was all his response. He sighed. "Well, then, have it as you will, but I'll not be leaving you here to die." He bundled up the badger in the remnants of his cloak and took it in his arms. He could feel the animal's bone, stark through its coarse pelt. After a few abortive snaps, the badger lay limp in his arms and he carried it to his horse. 

He had a busy few minutes convincing the hound that this badger was not for its teasing, and then his horse protested the scent of the creature with side-steps and prancing, but he managed to settle into the saddle at last, with Aidan cradled before him. The High-King's court was two day's ride away. The Fian were closer, and they had healers the match of any in the land. He kicked his horse into a canter, fearing the roughness of a faster pace.

***

The healer did what he could, but after he cleaned the wound the badger was barely breathing. Its eyes were open, but already seeming to gaze upon that other world. "I've done my best for you, surely I have," he said to Tiarnach, "but if a beast has given up, there's none can stop him from perishing."

"NO!" Tiarnach gathered Aidan into his arms, despite the healer's warning. Even a dying badger can rip out a throat. Tiarnach wept, tears flowing over the animal's face. The badger blinked and gave a weak growl. Tiarnach began to chant a lament for his lost love, Aidan the falsely banished, the betrayed. His voice was high and clear despite the tears, and the Fianna gathered near, moved by the beauty of his grief. 

"Cast out he was, shorn of good name,  
Hounded as the red roe deer,  
Faultless was he in honor,  
Bearing another's guilt and shame.

Ever-green rowan was his friend,  
Wild woods his footfall did hear,  
Green boughs his only banner,  
His kingdom dark forest and fen.

Sweet as the mountain stream his smile,  
His eyes death-gazing without fear,  
Honest in all things his manner,  
Straight as the ash tree, spurning guile.

The badger's growl grew louder, but Tiarnach's lament overrode the sound. He closed his eyes and continued, extolling Aidan's manly beauty and the cleverness of his tongue. 

Thorny words and keen mind defend,  
A wounded one who'd shed no tear.  
To all the world's foul slander,  
A noble spirit scorned to attend."

The badger shifted in his grip, and Tiarnach held tighter, trying to keep death at bay.

Beneath his white breast a lion's heart,  
Hawk-bright his eyes, raven-wing his hair,  
Berry-red lips to plunder,  
Oh my grief, to lose a love so fair!"

The weight in his arms grew, and he had to struggle to hold on. He tightened his arms still further, until he heard a cough next to his ear, and a familiar, dry voice saying, "Would you be after letting me breathe, the while I listen to your song?"

Tiarnach turned his head, and the black eyes he saw were those of a man, surrounded by the ghost-pale, but living, oh, but living, face of his one love. Aidan moved restlessly and added, "Your voice is not so terrible you must be after tying a man down to make him listen."

Tiarnach laughed and hugged Aidan fiercely once more, before undoing the bonds on his hands and feet. "I thought you were dying."

"Was I?" Aidan noticed the interested crowd surrounding them, and began to struggle. "I'll not be taken!"

"Hold still, love, you'll open the wound. No one will take you. Blathmac has heard the truth and named you free. Alanna's own brother proved her false, and you an innocent man."

"Never that," Aidan muttered, but he stopped fighting. His eyelids drooped. "She was very beautiful, my heart," he said, and touched Tiarnach's chest before his hand fell to his side.

"He but sleeps," the healer said, before Tiarnach could begin another lament.

***

"Blathmac welcomes you back to his court." Tiarnach sat down beside Aidan, careful not to jostle the injured arm, stiff and white in its bandages. He offered Aidan a cooked dough ball filled with meat, still hot from the fire.

Aidan took it, sat up, and yawned. He had been sleeping in the sun, as a wounded animal will do. He used his good hand to move his wounded arm into a more comfortable position. "Not today, I fear. Unless it is my king's order?" He began eating, turning the hot pastry cautiously as his sharp, white teeth made short work of it.

Tiarnach shook his head, setting the small gold bells at the ends of his braids to chiming. "He sent word that you were free of the kingdom, but for friendship's sake, he wishes you to join him when you may."

"Ah." Aidan finished his meal, yawned again, and curled up on his pallet, resting his head in Tiarnach's lap. "I would be fully recovered before I venture within reach of Blathmac. His affection is of the bearish sort." He glanced upward into Tiarnach's face, alerted by the change in breathing. "What?"

"I would not stand between you and the High-King," Tiarnach said softly.

"Very wise." Aidan reached up with his good arm to pull Tiarnach down for a lengthy, searching kiss. "It may be that I love him," Aidan confessed, looking away from Tiarnach for a moment, then back again. "But it is the love of a subject for a good king."

"Is that all? My heart..."

"Never have we bestowed more than a kinsman's greeting kiss, nor wanted to. It was enough to be his support, to know myself trusted... not many have given me that honor."

"I trust you."

Aidan searched Tiarnach's face for a long moment, while the young Fian held his breath, willing his lover to see his steadfast heart.

"Ah." Aidan looked aside, as if the sun-bright clarity of Tiarnach's love was too much to witness. "But you are Fian and I... I am oath-bound to the king. How can we in honor be together?"

"I am bound to the Fian, and the Fian to the High-King. We serve the same master."

"In our several fashions." Aidan smiled. "And you, aye, you would be the very fashion of the court, if only you could join me there. My house and possessions have been restored. Even a man of your _appetite_ could be well-fed from my bounty. And have the finest of raiment, swift horses and gold jewelry so crafted as to excite the admiration of the ladies of the court. And I would not deny them to you. All that you ask could be yours."

Tiarnach looked uneasy.

Aidan smiled again, but with sadness. "I see the marriage portion does not sit well with you either, my heart. What then are we to do?" He reached a hand into Tiarnach's hair and began playing with the long plaits.

"From Beltinne to Samhain the Fian ride, spreading the High-King's justice throughout the Isle. We live by the hunt, but never do we hunt the raven."

Aidan's eyebrows raised.

"The raven is beloved of Morrigan, the goddess of War, and as warriors we rely on her good favor."

"So... if a certain raven were to overfly your camp, it would not meet a flight of arrows?" The mockery in Aidan's voice was gentle now.

"On my life, it would be treated with utmost courtesy."

"And if it were to land?"

"It would be served the finest portions of the kill." Tiarnach's hands were rubbing Aidan's back, soothing and reassuring, asking nothing.

"And if it were not quite a raven?" Aidan turned his head so that he could nuzzle the tender hollow of Tiarnach's elbow through the layers of fine cloth. Even as a man, Aidan had the fine senses of his animal counterparts, and he enjoyed the richness of Tiarnach's scent.

"Oh, then it would be captured. By me. And not released until it paid ransom." Tiarnach brought one hand back to pet Aidan's head, stroking the sleekness of his raven-black hair.

"That seems a fair enough saying. But that is only half of the year. What of the long months after the harvest. What of the bitter cold of winter?"

"Then it is we are quartered upon the people. Upon those who will not be beggared by young men of lusty appetites." The blue in Tiarnach's eyes blazed. "A man of the court might be honored in such fashion."

"I see." Aidan closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and said, with mock regret. "It was a quiet house I had." He sighed. "But, for the good of the Isle, I suppose I can endure the presence of a few loud young men. From Samhain to Beltinne." His eyelids drooped, long lashes interlacing, and his body relaxed into slumber.

Tiarnach smiled down at Aidan and whispered, "And from Beltinne to Samhain, fly to me, my heart." He looked inside himself at that hollow place in his soul which he had tried to fill with adventure, with hard-riding and the blood-rush of battle, and he found it filled by the simple content of watching over his lover's sleep. He sighed and began to dream of the future.


End file.
